100 DG Oneshots
by VickyVicarious
Summary: 100 random oneshots of Draco/Ginny romance. Ratings, warnings, and a slightly more detailed summary inside. Enjoy!
1. Polar Opposite

Well, here goes - the first of a hundred Draco/Ginny oneshots. BTW, thank you **cuddlebear992** for the idea. :)

Now, these are in no particular order/length/genre other than being at least vaguely D/G, in the order I've written them, and oneshots. Some are going be literal drabbles, whereas others will be pages and pages long. They'll also probably cover a wide range of genres and styles. Consider yourself warned.

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**Words - 226  
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**Rating - PG13  
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**Warnings - None  
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**#1 – POLAR OPPOSITE**

His lips were… soft. And warm.

Ginny had a problem with that fact. He was everything harsh and cold, sharp lines and edges. Snapping voice, glaring ice-shard eyes. His walk was smooth, true, but cold; the subtle slide past you, head high, was more degrading than many words could ever be. His robes were black or green, never warm colors, and if they looked soft, it only emphasized how far distant he was from the silk he wore.

Silk, that was it. Cool, smooth, graceful, beautiful even, yes – but not something you'd want to bundle up in come winter. Glamorous, but not reliable. Expensive, and it required special washings and other such care, which really made it a bloody pain, not really worth it except for a special occasion.

But it wasn't a special occasion, just some mundane Tuesday, and his lips were warm, and soft.

They moved over hers, gentle and skewing her worldview, for long moments, and when they drew back, Ginny was surprised to realize that her eyes had been closed.

He looked so bloody _cold_, in front of her, staring with narrowed eyes, harsh and unforgiving, and yet those lips had kissed hers, soft and warm and gentle.

The sneer unraveled across his face, and Ginny flinched back, even as he slid away gracefully, not giving her a second glance.


	2. One Word, Many Meanings

**Words - 198  
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**Rating - PG13  
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**Warnings - None  
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**#2 – ONE WORD, MANY MEANINGS  
**

It was passion, but not of the type that you would connect that word with. The word had sexual connotations, that was all, and not at all what she'd meant when she'd said it.

She had _meant_ passionate anger; hatred; disgust; ferocious passion that was out for the kill, nothing else. That was what she had meant, and she'd thought it was clear when she said it. But apparently not, because everyone was staring at her in shock, mouths gaping wide.

She tried to explain, in quick, stuttering words, but it broke the spell and then they were all talking over each other at her, and Ginny started to blush and that was _it_.

The Malfoy in question left the Great Hall, and Ginny raced after him, shouting for him to wait.

"What would you say, if I asked you why we fought all the time? One word." He opened his mouth, sneering, and she repeated, "_One word!_"

Draco paused, thoughtful, and shrugged. After a long, long moment, he smirked. "Passion."

Later, at night in bed, awake long after everyone else had gone to sleep, Ginny chewed on her lip, and wondered which way he'd meant the word.


	3. Battle Of Wills

**Words - 300  
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**Rating - PG13  
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**Warnings - None  
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**#3 – BATTLE OF WILLS  
**

He caught her, when she fell.

She'd tripped, and fallen pretty much literally into his arms, and Draco had instinctively caught her, not realizing what he was doing until he was already steadying her on her feet with caring hands.

Draco swore, foul, and Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Well, there's no use for _that _sort of language."

Her voice was matter-of-fact, like she hadn't even processed the fact yet that Draco Malfoy had _caught her when she fell_, hadn't shoved her to the ground or laughed or hexed or done anything. But she would. Oh, she would, and once she did, she'd tell someone, and that was _all_ he needed.

Draco swore again, viciously, and swung his boot into the step in front of him. Only it happened that her foot was there, so instead she went tumbling towards the ground, letting out a cry of pain.

Which, really, would have been all well and good, but then his arms shot out and caught her again, and he was left with a bloody Weasel in his arms for the second time in as many minutes – except this time, she didn't seem inclined to let go.

"Oh, no," she snapped, and when she tilted her head around to glare at him, her red hair whipped across his face, soft and smelling of jasmine. "If you're going to kick me, you're going to get me to the Hospital Wing to get it checked out if you have to carry me… which you might, _ow_. Bloody idiot – what'd you do that for anyway?"

Her face was tight with pain and Draco scowled, trying to pull loose. Her fingernails were like _claws_, though, and – ouch! – it didn't really seem worth it.

Draco glared. Ginny glared back.

Draco blinked.


	4. End Of Days

**Words - 1781  
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**Rating - T  
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**Warnings - Language, implied sexual situations, angst  
**

**#4 – END OF DAYS  
**

"It's over," she had said, and he was, oddly enough, horrified at the thought. Not sure _why_, because it was just sex and he didn't care for her at all. He could have called it off at any moment too, had been considering doing so in order to get a date just last week; the fact that he'd decided not to had nothing to do with anything.

Because they had rules, and if either one went out with another person, it had to stop for the length of that relationship, because otherwise the other one would expose it to the school. There had been other rules, too, but none of them were relevant at the moment.

She had broken it off, worse, because bloody Potter himself had asked her out. That git had been the founding basis of this relationship if you could call it that – Draco hated him and Ginny loved him, and neither one liked the fact that he was ignoring them both entirely – though after the first experimental kiss had exploded into so much more, they kept it a secret, and never did bother with shocking him. That was when they had made the rules, two days after the kiss, in the back of the library, hushed whispers.

He remembered that she had been frazzled, trying to write down rules, and he'd been smirking, fingers exploring that one loose curl of hair, until finally he let it all down and played with it, her eyes closing as he snickered and tugged her closer.

Then, he had been totally in his element, controlled and enjoying himself, taking pleasure in the lust and the knowledge that he was corrupting an innocent Gryffindor, Potter's innocent Gryffindor at that. It was all a good time and bloody fun and he'd hoarsely muttered, "Yeah, that sounds great," to her suggestions as he swiped his tongue over her collarbone, and now it was all different.

Now, when she said that it was over – her voice stern and cold and determined – he felt an odd flipping, shivery motion in his gut that he didn't like, didn't like at all.

"What, just like that?" Draco smirked, acting like his stomach wasn't reacting to those words with a vengeance, like he didn't feel as though he'd just swallowed one of Longbottom's attempts at a Calming Drought, like he was _himself_, not too long ago at all.

"Yep," she popped the 'p', looking alarmingly cheery, and Draco's brows knit when the churning increased.

"Hey, try not to sound so happy! My feelings could be hurt, you know!"

Ginny snorted. "Please, if anything's bruised, it's your ego."

Draco usually would have had a retort, and he did this time, too, it would appear any moment as soon as she was done putting her sweater on.

But as soon as that moment came, she scooped up her bag and headed for the door, blasé and probably thinking about Potter and their upcoming date, and Draco clenched his jaw but didn't move.

-xxx-

He turned up, though, the next day, cursing his feet as they marched onward. But it was as much of a shock that she was in the room, and he started on seeing her. "What are you doing here? The Boy-That-Thinks-He's-All-Fucking-That dump you already?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, "No, but I like this room."

Draco's stomach hadn't settled since yesterday; he hadn't been able to eat dinner and Madam Whatsherface had told him there was nothing wrong with him. Dozy bint couldn't tell that his stomach acid was boiling up into his lungs, making it hard to breathe and even harder to talk, especially right now.

He coughed, and walked closer, forcing words out. "Sure you aren't up for anything, then? I wouldn't mind a tumble for old times' sake… Got two free periods."

Gave her his best suave smile and slid his fingers around her wrist, privately marveling at her baby-soft skin; winked.

Ginny almost weakened for a second, almost considered it, he could tell, but then she stood up abruptly and started gathering her books, stuffing them in her bag. "I thought," she huffed, her eyes blazing and hair flying, "the agreement was that once one of us called it off, it was _over!_ No more hanging around, no more talking about it."

They had spent an entire day in this room, one long day in the middle of winter, and at one point they were cuddled into that chair she stood next to right now, a magical fire on the table in front of them and her tracing runes onto his skin as they sat in silence. Her eyes had been bright brown, much like now, and he'd kissed her slowly, without much intention of going another round, just because the moment called for it; a soft, sweet, low, long kiss, which she returned and smiled after.

Draco took a step closer. "Yeah, maybe, but I wasn't paying much attention when we made them. Not sure I remember that one." He'd massaged the back of her head and scraped his teeth over her pulse point instead of listening, marveling that she could think let alone write when she was sighing like that, when he was making her sigh.

Ginny glared at him, and Draco grinned back roguishly. "What, worth a try." His stomach bubbled and he curled his toes, releasing the pressure in an undetectable way.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." Ginny was angry now, stomping past him. "Just because I thought you'd have the _decency_ for once, to respect my wishes and just – "

Draco caught her, whirled her around. Snatched her bag and dropped it at his feet, gripped into her hair and pulled her face up to his. His other arm wrapped around her back, holding her there tight. "Stay, Weasley."

He mashed his lips to hers, messy in a way that didn't fit with the stupid violins sawing away in his head, and clutched her close, manipulating until his tongue was in her mouth, until he felt her press back, until her hand fluttered up to the back of his head, until her fingers slid into his hair and the churning in his gut was suddenly gone, replaced by a hot, lightheaded giddy feeling, that seemed to be giving Draco a natural high.

He pulled back and laughed, breathing heavily, gulping air, and Ginny laughed too. She was all up against him, pressed close and familiar and hot, pressing all the right buttons and Draco just laughed because _hell_.

He looked back down at her, a sideways grin on his face that had appeared without his permission, though he really didn't give a shit, and tilted his forehead closer, resting it on hers. Her eyes were a brilliant soft brown, shining, framed by soft wispy flames, and Draco felt that sudden lurching, only this time it wasn't really unpleasant, and it wasn't in his gut either, but deep in his chest, making him take a long, shaky breath.

And just like that one endless day in the middle of winter, the moment called for it and he closed his eyes, leaning close and pressing slow, long, soft.

She smiled after, eyes bright, and Draco gulped.

"Guess we can forget about Potter, eh?" he smirked, before going in for another one, heat still spilling through him and softening everything. At this point he'd be nice to kittens, hell he'd even celebrate Christmas with little kids, he didn't _care_.

Ginny froze though, in his arms, something that hadn't ever happened before and Draco didn't know what to do with it. He wondered why she wasn't malleable, was suddenly like a slab of ice in his hands, his toes clenching up again, jaw itching to as well.

Ginny stepped back, and for some reason Draco's limbs slipped off her like hot wax, not resisting. "Potter," she spat and he stared blankly, no clue.

"Potter… Is it _always_ about fucking Harry _Potter_ with you, Draco? I mean, can't you think about _anything_ else, is it really possible to hate someone that damn much! God, for a second I – _God!_"

Draco blinked, lost, as she shuffled around again, picking up her bag and stomping backwards. She was ferocious now, but something was off – her face was reddening, not at all cold like it had been before. Not resolved or determined or stern, but sounding angry, her voice catching; her eyes, he noticed, puffing up, she was blinking rapidly, was that a _sniffle?_ and then she turned back, and yes it was, he saw because he'd moved, suddenly, in front of the door.

"Ginny…" Draco said for possibly the third time in either of their lives, and her face crumpled. She sobbed harshly and shoved at him, rebounding back into the room. He reached up, trying to stop her, to _ask_, but she shoved again, hard in his ribs and he stepped back with an _oof_ and she was in the hallway.

She stomped backwards. "I am going out with Harry Potter on Friday, and _damn_ what you think! Just _damn_ it, I don't _care_," sobbing the whole time, and Draco just stood there and watched her go, winded and wounded and her words and actions still reverberating around his head.

He didn't know what was going on, but she turned the corner and screamed, "It is _OVER!_" and he felt his gut plummet and disappear.

-xxx-

When it began he was suave and confident, cool and calm and perfectly fine, and approached her with the words, "You're in love with Potter, right?"

Then, it had all been a joke, a game and no skin off his nose, harmless fun, just lust and revenge after all, why the hell not.

But now, he went to breakfast and saw her and Potter together, grinning, the _fucking_ idiot all over her, and she right back, and he took a moment to himself, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw, carefully letting go of his cup because he didn't want a spill.

Something hot and aching throbbed in his head and pulsed under his skin, spreading like fire on oil, burning him from the inside out and outside in, his gut an empty hole.

When he opened his eyes Ginny was looking at him, deep brown shining, surrounded by blazing fire, that one curl dangling.

When it ended Draco was different, lost though he wouldn't admit it, and every time he saw her with Potter, he took a deep breath and forced it through his lungs, swallowing hot bile; and he smirked at them, and insulted them both, Potter mostly though, _always_ focused on Potter.

And watched her eyes.


	5. Freedom Flying

**Words - 2337  
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**Rating - PG13  
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**Warnings - Ridiculously mild language  
**

**#5 – FREEDOM FLYING  
**

Put quite simply, Draco loved to fly.

Racing brooms, caring kits, instruction books, Quidditch teams; he'd never really cared for any of them, though he didn't let anyone figure that out. All he had cared about in the beginning was the feeling he'd get, lost in the air, like part of the wind. No worries, no cares, not even an identity really, just him and the broom and the clouds. He'd felt it, the allure the moment he first touched a broomstick, and ever since that had been all he'd been concerned with.

Draco didn't bother with instructions or lessons, really, just got on and made it work. He must have fallen off countless times, and he'd probably have died had Dobby the house-elf not levitated him before he hit the ground on one occasion, but he didn't care. He had taught himself during a hot, busy summer, when he was eight and his father was busy at the Ministry and his mother was off doing something – he never really knew what either of them did, except that they all ate dinner together and didn't talk about their respective days too much.

Draco had been left at home, alone except for Dobby, none of his friends available for once, all of them off traveling, and to keep him occupied with something other than the Latin textbook he had been assigned for summer reading, his parents bought him a broom and a book on how to ride it.

Draco had flown before, briefly, though never on his own, and so he knew the basics of what to do, and knew that he loved it. And in truth, not only did he not really _want_ the book; he also didn't _need_ it. The whole thing was instinctive – he never thought to turn or slow down or speed up or rise or fall, he just _did_.

In that long summer, Draco taught himself to fly until it was almost as natural as walking, and though it never was quite natural enough to be easy, it was natural enough to feel _right_, and for once he absolutely hated his Latin text. He spent hours every day on his broom, and it was only when the school year came around again, that he got into the sport of Quidditch itself – because if he couldn't fly as often himself, at least he could watch.

Draco had known from the start that he would be on the Slytherin Quidditch team – it was expected of him, and all he really had to decide was what position to play. So after a lot of consideration, Draco picked the job that required the least thought.

It wasn't because he was stupid, or because he couldn't handle the mental calculation or alertness necessary for being a Chaser or Keeper or Beater – because they all did require a surprising amount of effort. It was simply that Draco didn't want to _have_ to. Though he was at least passably good at each position, it was Seeker he was best at, because Seeker was the closest he could get to playing the game and still melting into the air.

When Draco arrived at Hogwarts, he was ecstatic about flying lessons, though of course he didn't expect to need to learn anything. He was humiliated, then, when first he learned that he'd been holding the broom handle the wrong way the whole time, and then when stupid Potter displayed shocking skill on a broom (and such a damn _natural_ skill, more than Draco's, too, he never fell or worked for it, it was just _there_) and got onto the Gryffindor team, even though first-years weren't allowed. As Seeker.

Draco hated that boy.

And worse, even when one had their own broom, it was surprisingly difficult to fly for non-Quidditch-related purposes; for instance, flying for the sake of flying. The Quidditch field was always booked and if someone was caught flying all over the grounds they would get detention, and besides the storage shed was always locked – and you _had_ to keep your broom there.

So Draco became even more determined to get on the team, though when he did, he ended up finding out that not only was Potter more natural than him, but the idiot was just _better_. Draco hated to admit it and never did out loud, and anyway, when he was just _flying_, not playing, he probably at least matched Potter's skill – but in a Quidditch match, with the crowds roaring and the team concentrating and putting on the pressure… Draco still loved it but it wasn't the same, he never felt _gone_. Draco Malfoy was always there, shrewd and calculating and willing to do anything to win, and definitely not part of the clouds, and Draco Malfoy couldn't ride a broom – couldn't Seek – nearly as well as he could _fly_.

So whenever Draco got a chance, he snatched it. He snuck out at night and _Alohamora_-ed the broom shed, and took out his Nimbus and gripped it the wrong way and rose up into the sky at a reckless pace, sped through clouds that soaked him to the bone, up until his head spun from the thin air and he couldn't see the ground, or anything but the white clouds beneath and dark sky above, speckled with stars, and then he closed his eyes and _dove_, and Draco Malfoy melted away into nothing but wind.

-xxx-

Ginny first saw him late one night, up on the Astronomy tower. She'd gotten special permission to be there to finish a project, and was alone in the dark, trying to squint through the telescope and clouds above to find and label Orion.

She was just taking her face away from the lens to look back at her paper when a small dark shape rocketed up and disappeared into the clouds. Ginny jumped and squeaked, then leaned forward eagerly, staring at the spot it had disappeared. She had no clue what it was, and was incredibly eager to know – yet another effect of growing up with Fred and George; things tended to intrigue rather frighten you.

After nearly five minutes of squinting, Ginny had almost decided that she'd imagined it – and then the blur came back down, so fast that she nearly dropped her telescope trying to follow its path towards the ground. It swooped low, so low and fast that despite having no earthly clue what it was, Ginny sucked in her breath in fear – but at nearly the last instant, it leveled out and sped out over the lake, climbing up around the castle in a graceful, slowing spiral.

As the shape slowed, and before it rounded the castle around where she couldn't see it, Ginny finally identified it: someone on a broom. But who? And why? They didn't appear to be doing anything in particular, just flying – though clearly with incredible skill… and on an _incredible_ broom. Maybe it was Harry? But again – why? And he knew better than to be out here after dark, didn't he?

Ginny turned her telescope up again, at the clouds that were starting to move aside. She could probably find Orion now, if she tried. But the flyer should be rounding the castle now – and she had to ask Harry what on earth he was doing… Maybe try to join him.

Ginny ducked low and backed into the corner, watching as the broom slowed even more as it came up next to her on the balcony. Well, actually on the far side of the balcony, and she was standing in shadow, so _she_ probably wasn't visible – but she could see _him_.

Yes, she saw him, as he finally stopped right on the ledge, slipping off the broom to sink down and slump against the wall, breathing fast and loud. She saw his chest heaving and saw his broom, propped up next to him, and saw the distinctive lean shape of an athletic boy who knew how to fly – but it wasn't until he leaned forward and put his head on his arms, and the moonlight hit and illuminated his almost-white hair, that she saw Draco Malfoy.

-xxx-

Draco slid back, breathing heavily, trying to clear his buzzing head. He'd outdone himself tonight. He'd gone higher than ever before – and while it was amazing as always, the fall had been so fast and he'd been so dizzy that he had hardly managed to pull out before he hit the ground, and had been forced to climb back up to the Astronomy tower to rest for a while.

He felt heavy, his robes soaked with dew, and his eyes still leaking uncontrollable tears from the wind, though they had been shut the whole time anyway. He was sore all over – it took a lot of muscle power to control a dive like that, not to mention to stop it – and his limbs were trembling. He was completely unkempt; out of control; breathless and brainless.

He had never felt so alive.

A shaky grin grew on his face with another pant, and Draco rested his head in his arms, folded over bent knees. He wiped at his face, smearing off rain and tears, and grinned wider, his breath still heaving. Another pant, and a laugh was forced out, breathless and weak, but there.

_God_, he felt – felt indescribable, and he knew that he was going to do this again. His heart was pounding, keeping his body warm in spite of the cold wind and wet, thumping so hard he could feel it in his cheeks and stomach, and hear it, too.

Draco closed his eyes briefly and let the laughter die, reaching a hand over to slide down the length of his Nimbus. It hit him then, familiar and urging, soaring through his weak, shaking body – the desire to fly again.

Draco stood, slowly, shaking himself slightly, unable to stop grinning but trying to calm down before he set off again, less riskily this time. He should probably head inside soon, it was late – but he just wanted to soar around the castle one more time first.

-xxx-

Ginny had been watched, completely enchanted. She had never entertained the thought that Draco Malfoy would indulge in late-night daredevil flying, but even if she had, she would never have expected it to be like this. He looked exhausted – soaked, head to toe, with his face smeared with wet and his hair in sweaty spikes rather than slicked back. He was panting like he was about to keel over and die, shaking like it too; and then he started _grinning_, brilliant white teeth shining in the moon and holding her in place.

This wasn't the Draco Malfoy from daytime at all; this was a mysterious ghost, a phantom of the night and clouds, that Ginny half expected to glitter with faerie dust. And then he _laughed_, and oh, it _was_ magical, because the sound was so welcoming and warm, genuine, and completely uncontrolled that Ginny just wanted to go over there and kiss him.

He was only there for a short time longer; then he stood and got back on his broom, slowly arcing around again, swerving and diving in short little motions as he spiraled back down around the castle. Ginny ran to the wall to watch, and followed his flight with her eyes (when she could) until he landed back at the broom shed. His tiny figure disappeared inside it, then returned outside without his broom, slowly turning up the hill back to the castle.

Ginny watched him all the way up, until she couldn't see him anymore; then she turned back to her telescope, mind whirring.

-xxx-

After that time, Ginny kept watching. Not from the Astronomy tower anymore, but from her dormitory. She would get up, late at night, and sneak over to the window. Leaning out of it, ignoring the chill of the air on her bare arms, she'd watch and wait, and some nights, after midnight, he'd appear. A bolt from above, a daring display of flying at its finest, and at first Ginny wondered why he never flew like this during Quidditch games. Harry would have an unexpected challenge.

But, after a few more nights, Ginny thought that maybe it wasn't that he didn't want to; it was that he _couldn't_. There was something, in the way that he flew, that was so… so free and uncontrolled, that Ginny became convinced that it wouldn't be _possible_ for Draco to use in a game.

And that was okay.

She watched him fly, and after that, she could never treat him or view him the same way. She'd borne witness to this hidden side of him, this passionate and magical creature that escaped at night in the air, and now Draco himself just wasn't evil anymore. So she didn't mention it, and kept on watching, and took his insults with a private smile, because she knew better.

Watching him was something new… something private, something free, and she wasn't going to give that up for the sake of a moment's anger.


	6. Silver, Mercury, Silk, Rain

**Words - 299 [excluding prompt]  
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**Rating - PG13  
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**Warnings - Angst**

**Prompt - **_"The myriad of emotions that raged through her were almost too much to bear; wet, his hair looked more silky than usual, like a dusting of color on molten silver, and she tried to crush her sobs as the rain came down around them, and the drops chilled her to the bone."_

**#6 – SILVER, MERCURY, SILK, RAIN  
**

They had both known it was coming from the very beginning – neither denying it, even preferring to frequently remind themselves of what they must anticipate. Ginny, in particular, had thought herself entirely prepared for this moment, and hadn't felt any hesitation during the long hours spent preparing for their departures – until now.

They stood outside, in the growing storm, thunder booming overhead, mere seconds away from parting – and suddenly it hit her, leaving her winded and dizzy. Draco stood there, tall and strong, the sharp, angularly beautiful features she had always admired set in a neutral expression, which melted into confusion and concern as her sudden, choking sob sounded next to him.

He turned to her. "Ginny, what is it-?"

Love; that was this feeling, sudden and strong, and utterly hopeless. The deepest affection she had ever known, like a bolt from the raging sky above; which, with another distant rumble of thunder, opened up on their heads, drenching them with freezing water. Draco glanced up in annoyance, shifting in his expensive cloak, and Ginny pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing hard. The feelings: sudden affection, love, desire; need – rendered her incapable of speech, even as Draco leaned down, mercury eyes beseeching her to explain.

The myriad of emotions that raged through her were almost too much to bear; wet, his hair looked more silky than usual, like a dusting of color on molten silver, and she tried to crush her sobs as the rain came down around them, and the drops chilled her to the bone.

"Ginny?" he tried again, but Ginny just shook her head, pressing her hand harder against her lips, shoulders shaking and whole body tensed with the effort to not take that one necessary step, cross the mere inches to be at his side, put her hands on those defined cheekbones and pull him down to her, melt into his silver and mercury and silk and just stay there and forget about the world.

"No," she choked out, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing a step back, each raindrop like ice. "Go. Go, Draco."


	7. Moments

**Words - 267  
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**Rating - PG13  
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**Warnings - None  
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**#7 – MOMENTS  
**

_[you're an idiot if you don't see it]_

She laughed, shining, and he stopped dead. He stayed in the shadows, out of her sight, watching in silence. His face was stoic as he took in her glow, the unbeatable grin, the bright freckles, the eyes that were lit up from within.

For a moment, something shifted in him, and he breathed deeper; didn't blink, just watched, and felt the current shifting, taking him in an entirely new direction, feeling the sudden rush of heat around him, the rest of the world melting away, just him watching her, and then even that faded into the pulsing beat of his heart and breath.

He turned, and walked away.

_[or maybe just colorblind]_

Behind him, the glow faded as though it was never there, the connection dying, a moment that might have shifted destinies suddenly dissipating in the wake of his rejection. None of it was conscious; he had left, because it was simply too much, too bright, too unclear, too warm and wet and unfamiliar, and he felt above it and not worthy of it at the same time.

Still. He walked away.

_[it doesn't matter]_

And the moment shifted, altered, was forgotten and lost forever, slipped down into the cracks of time. A heart froze over, a pulse died, and the glow melted away forever.

He didn't know it, didn't think about it, didn't realize it at all. But sometimes, most times, you only get one chance.

He walked away, and lost it.

_[the result's the same]_

The glow faded; behind him, her grin slowly did the same.


	8. Likes, Dislikes, And Logical Conclusions

**Words - 631  
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**Rating - PG13  
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**Warnings - Mild math  
**

**#8 – LIKES, DISLIKES, AND LOGICAL CONCLUSIONS  
**

Ginny likes hot chocolate in the summer and lemonade in the winter.

She likes riding her broom breakneck fast, jumping on the bed, and doing the dishes. She likes spicy foods and dark colors to contrast with her vivid hair. She likes toads more than she does cats, though she loves owls best of all, and she's always had an affinity for writing down her thoughts but never sharing them aloud. She likes swimming and Potions and honor and arguing and plushy chairs and challenges and annoying her brothers. She likes setting foolish people right and climbing apple trees and tickling her chin with a quill whenever she's trying to think. She likes misunderstood people and cold, dreary days and sarcasm and lasagna and singing along with bad music on the radio. She likes jokes and sappy romance novels and horror novels and smart people and handsome people and somehow, mixed in with all those inconsistencies and random enjoyments, she's added up several ingredients and stirred them to a bubbling cauldron of trouble:

Liking + (_dark colors + potions + arguing + annoying her brothers _+_ setting foolish people right + misunderstood people + sarcasm + smart people + handsome people_) = Draco Malfoy.

-xxx-

Ginny dislikes coffee in the morning and hot milk at night.

She dislikes toffees and magazines, tofu and the awkwardness of trying to date people who were friends first. She dislikes unburnt toast and overly-long essays and people who don't know how to leave you alone. She dislikes dim lamps and condescension and guilt complexes. She dislikes curly hair and messiness and spending all of her time with Ron. She dislikes feeling stupid and being left out, the color purple, waking up early, and having to wear hand-me-downs. She dislikes satin and echoes and looking back rather than focusing forward. She dislikes taking the easy way out and Astronomy and being late, lying to herself and being caught lying to others. She dislikes potatoes, too-nice guys, and studying on her own, and once she's started something she has to finish it, so she plucks out the relevant points and adds them into the mix:

Disliking + _(dating friends + not enough privacy + guilt complexes + curly hair + messiness + spending all her time with Ron + being left out + always looking backwards + too-nice guys)_ = Harry Potter.

-xxx-

Ginny likes to be honest with herself, and dislikes discovering these sorts of things when it's almost too late.

But she dislikes doing nothing, and she likes writing down her thoughts, so she lays it all out as though it's a list of Potions ingredients, then examines what she's got in order to form the best mixture possible. She's got two choices.

She's always liked Harry Potter and she knows that's what is right. It's the easiest course and wouldn't take more than fifteen minutes of simmering before the mildly enjoyable result appeared. It wouldn't be bad. She wouldn't actually dislike it, but she disliked the ingredients, and she'd never be quite satisfied, no matter what anyone else thought.

She's always hated Draco Malfoy and she ought not to even consider this. It will be a long and difficult process, more temperamental than Polyjuice Potion and more frowned-upon than using a Mind-Sharpening Elixir before the O.W.L.s. But the end product might very well turn out to be her own Felix Felicitus, and how could she turn that sort of challenge down? People had thought Felix Barnaby insane when he first undertook brewing it, after all, and look how they swallowed their words, twenty years later, when he unveiled his completed invention, that lucky liquid gold, made up of everything he enjoyed.

Ginny likes a challenge, after all, and has always disliked taking the easy way out.


	9. The Trials We Face

**Words - 499  
**

**Rating - PG13  
**

**Warnings - None  
**

**Prompt - "Splotched if you must, (Draco or Ginny), but _not_ lumpy!" 300-500 words.**

**#9 – THE TRIALS WE FACE  
**

Ginny Weasley had survived a war. She had fought Death Eaters in mortal combat at barely sixteen, had lived in hiding, had endured an oppressive rule and cruel punishments. She had stood up to everyone else when she began to date one of her family's old enemies, and then when she later married him. She had never backed down, and had never thought anything could get the best of her, not after what she'd been through.

She had never cooked a cake with Draco Malfoy.

It had taken them five hours to get here, and the kitchen was barely recognizable. Three bowls had broken, one beyond the point where magic could restore it. Ginny didn't want to consider the amount of wasted ingredients, and though her arm had stopped bleeding, it still frigging _hurt_.

But at least the cake was finally in the oven. Draco was stirring the food-dye into the frosting (he couldn't mess that up, right?), and Ginny was finally able to sit down and breathe, for what seemed like the first time since the flour had come out.

Just as she closed her eyes, something hit the floor. Ginny jumped up, wand out, eyes wide and panicked – and saw Draco wincing, bending down to grab an open bottle before the last bit of food dye spilled onto the floor. He scowled at it, and opened his mouth as if to complain…

Ginny met his eyes.

"You sit down," Draco said. "I'll just… get this. _Scourgify!_"

Ginny eyed him balefully, slowly sinking back into her chair. "Don't drop things," she hissed, "the cake is rising."

Draco looked bewildered, obviously not understanding what one had to do with the other, but he didn't dare ask. Instead, he eyed the few drops left of food-dye, and upended the bottle over the mixing bowl.

Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed her eyes.

_Think of the yummy cake that you'll soon be eating, Ginny, just think of the cake..._

"Erm," Draco said. He brought the bowl of frosting over to her, shoving it under her face. "It's gone all… splotchy. We don't have enough dye."

Ginny refused to look. "I don't care. Fix it. By _yourself_."

And thus she gained another five minutes of blissful silence. Only to be interrupted once again by her husband's voice.

"Erm," Draco hesitated, then: "What if I put a bit of water in? That would dilute and even out the dye, I think, though it might make it all a bit lumpy."

Ginny's fraying thread of nerves… snapped.

"No, that is _it!_ I have put up with you all through this disaster, but if you think I will let you put _water_ into the frosting, you are insane. Splotched if you must, Draco, but _not_ lumpy! I will not let you do that to my cake!"

"And _you_ are cleaning this up!" Ginny snarled like a wild beast, then stormed out of the room.

Fleeing, for the first time in her life.


	10. Inferno

**Words - 262  
**

**Rating - PG13  
**

**Warnings - Confusion  
**

**#10 – INFERNO  
**

Crushing, burning, breaking, _aching_ – the pressure soared through him like lightning, like temperatures rising, mercury smashing up and cracking glass, face flushing, palms sweating, teeth gritting, hands clenching, furious, hate, rip and _squeeze_, and his fingernails cut his palms; he had to stop himself from stepping forward and –

It was just _ripping_ through him, stronger than anything, and he didn't get it at all. This – this insane _fury_, completely out of his control, raging and taking over. All his barriers of ice melted in an instant when faced with this monstrous heat, and his heart was _pounding so hard_, his throat dry…

He clenched his hands together as hard as he could and lied to himself that this _wasn't happening_, never had, was, would – it just _couldn't_ and he wasn't watching, didn't care, knuckles most definitely not white with pressure, not popping from the strain of holding back –

Nothing _to_ hold back. Nothing. He wasn't there, didn't care, just a whisper in the air – stupid rhyming games in his head, the heat driving him crazy. Breathing, he suddenly remembered, _breathing_, and he – gasped in, choking, fingers falling loose before snapping in again, sharp nails fitting into set grooves in his skin, digging in deep. Self-destructing, watching and burning like he'd never known.

Their lips touched and something in him flared like a phoenix, took him over and shook him down with a killer's soul and empty heart smashing and pounding so hard –

Trembling, he remained in the shadows long after they left, hand in hand.


	11. Threnody

**Words - 813  
**

**Rating - T  
**

**Warnings - Death, angst, vagueness**

**Prompt - **_"I've never done anything bad."_**  
**

**#11 – THRENODY  
**

"You can blame me all you want, Weasley," he said softly, "but the facts are the facts. This is how it has turned out. Nothing you say will change reality."

Ginny's face was red; eyes shining wetly, fists clenched. "You're _lying_," she spat, "You fucking – why won't you just tell me the truth? I _know_ it – I know you couldn't! I told everyone, I _told_ them you wouldn't do anything… I _fought_ for you!"

Draco sighed and shook his head. His voice was still calm, _too calm_, as he replied again: "You're not worth the effort to lie to, Weasley, even if my life was on the line, which it is not, you being in your present state. I honestly don't give a damn what they thought of me; never have, and your petition didn't change a thing. If you can't accept the truth, even when the evidence is right in front of your eyes, that's your own problem; leave me out of it."

Her breath was coming fast, her pulse pounding in her ears, and he was standing entirely too still. Everything about this was wrong – he was too calm, too quiet, and almost _pitying_ in the way he spoke to her. And he was just _standing _there, unaffected, while she panted and sweated and tried to summon enough energy to rip his face _off_, to undo this all, because she had sworn he would _never_ –

"You – how can I leave you _out_, when you're the center – " she panted, slowly standing. Draco didn't move, just lifted his chin up so that their eyes still met once she was back on her feet. The setting sun behind him lit him up with a halo, individual strands of sliver hair highlighted in golden light, and it was sickeningly ironic. But still beautiful, and Ginny remembered that once she had thought herself in love with this man. In all honesty she still did, and that only made this worse.

He didn't care. He never had.

"You say you hate me, Weasley," he said, and his eyes cut to the side quickly, once, at the crumpled bodies left behind. Blood smeared on the grass and on Ginny's face and hands, but Draco's skin remained milky-white, his robes pristine. "All of you did. And you say you're so right, you've done so much good, yet when you think about it…"

A small noise crawled up her throat, forced its way out of her mouth, and Draco paused. His eyes were that same grey as they had been all along, the same shade as when he had endured things no one should ever endure. The same as when he had committed acts she could never forgive. The same as when she had told him she believed in him.

If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Draco Malfoy's had some damn heavy curtains, because his were as blank and unreadable as ever.

"I've never done anything bad," he finally stated, and after her knee-jerk snort of disbelief, Ginny found herself wanting to cry. Draco looked like a little kid, and it was what she'd seen all along, what she had defended and could _never_ kill. He was a little lost boy, talking to himself, answering the call of inner demons, and she'd tried so _hard_ to stop this. "I am not the villain here. If you can't see that, you're just as blind as those fools were."

Forget curtains, they were shuttered, boarded up, and incidentally made of stone behind all of that. He was lost, no matter how she had tried, and worst, he looked at her with both pity and regret.

Draco shook his head. "I won't kill you, not after what you've done for me. But… I confess I had hoped for more from you, Weasley."

His eyes were as blank as ever, as grey and as wounded, and she still could do nothing but blame herself for this. Even when he turned and calmly walked away, one boot landing on someone's limp, bloody hand with an audible crunch. Not that they cared anymore, but it was macabre and deafening in this silence, and she flinched.

She blamed herself, now as much as ever, because she had _helped_ him. Because he had not killed her alone, and because she could not kill him, though her wand was gripped, ready, in her hand.

If he had just killed her, then she wouldn't feel so guilty. If he had killed her, if he had not shown mercy, she would have been wrong, and hideous though that was, it was better than the truth. Because what this meant was that she had been right all along, and just not good enough to save him.

This was her fault, as much as his.

So Ginny stood still and watched him go.


	12. As Easy As A, B, C

**Words - 438  
**

**Rating - PG13  
**

**Warnings - Repetition, potential confusion, implied sexual situations  
**

**#12 – AS EASY AS A, B, C  
**

In these empty days, certain things seem meaningful.

-xxx-

Things like how he once looked at you and you saw something special in his eyes.

Things like how he once spoke to you and you hated him for his mocking tone.

Things like how he once touched you and you flinched away.

Things like how he once ignored you and you pretended like you didn't care.

Things like how he once flirted with you and you kind of enjoyed it.

Things like how he once courted you and you kept looking for the catch.

Things like how he once yelled at you and you screamed right back.

Things like how he once wanted you and you gave in to temptation.

Things like how he once used you and you might have used him first.

Things like how he once needed you and you didn't understand.

Things like how he once watched you and you ignored him.

Things like how he once confessed to you and you called him a liar.

-xxx-

The connecting strings are lost somewhere in quiet evenings, but the pinpricks are there, a slew of moments – and you rebuild them this time, drawing new connections that you never saw before.

-xxx-

Connections like how he watched you first and you only noticed him after.

Connections like how he manipulated you to keep you aware of him and you resisted.

Connections like how he became impatient sometimes and you flung him firmly back in his place.

Connections like how he was stubborn and you made him be the one to give in.

Connections like how he finally began to make progress and you finally began to let him.

Connections like how he honestly tried and you never trusted him.

Connections like how he hated you and you were so damn spoiled.

Connections like how he couldn't resist and succeeded for the first time.

Connections like how he panicked and you had all your mistrust renewed.

Connections like how he found himself set back at the beginning and you just made it worse for him.

Connections like how he meant what he said and you shut him down.

-xxx-

Lately you see these things at night, and you grow extremely fed up with yourself, because this was all years ago and you never minded until now. But you never _noticed_ until now, either, and that might be the point he repeatedly failed to make, and finally stopped trying to. And from this you draw final conclusions, staring out the window.

-xxx-

Conclusions like how he once loved you.

Conclusions like how he doesn't anymore.

Conclusions like how that's all your fault.


	13. Love?

**Words - 505  
**

**Rating - PG13  
**

**Warnings - I kill sentences, and it's gender-free (both intentional).  
**

**#13 – LOVE?  
**

It's emotion, wild, swirling in your gut. It's something you've never experienced before, a great heat that not only burns, but _hurts_, because you don't understand it and you know it's wrong and it's something you try to ignore, but can't.

It's dreams, confusing, twisting reality. It's waking up gasping, flushing, sweating, hoping that this didn't happen yet again but knowing at the same time that it did, half-memories flitting in and bringing it back, that _heat_, that urge, and you have to fight it down, fight yourself to negate it and win as a matter of pride if nothing else, it's a battle you lose more often than not.

It's blushes, unexpected, new and embarrassing. It's looking away, teeth gritting and pretending your hardest that you cannot _feel _it, that this isn't happening and never has and never will, and it's shame filling you up like water in a cup.

It's fear, irrational, overpowering everything. It's looking away quickly and glancing back to see if anyone has noticed, it's biting the tip of your tongue and acting like you're invisible, _hoping_ you are, hoping for once no one has seen you, hoping no one will connect the dots, fearing, dreading, knowing it's only a matter of time.

It's denial, stubborn, refusing reality no matter what. It's pretending like you're made of stone, pretending like you never dream, like your eyes are always trained straight ahead, like you don't care about anything, don't _want_ anything, it's insisting and insisting to the world even though you're the only one who knows or cares anyway.

It's jealousy, burning, the desire to destroy. It's wanting to toss your wand away and revel in the age-old feel of someone else's skin under your fist, someone's nose breaking, someone's smug smile and wandering eyes and closeness and ability to get away with it wiped out, it's hating without any real justification and not caring and just wanting to get _violent_ already.

It's forbidden, taboo, impossible anyway. It's something that you'd be cast out for, not accepted on either side, something that goes against every rule, every tradition of your family, something that absolutely no one in the world would accept, it's something that somehow makes you stop caring about anything you've ever cared about before in favor of your imagined rebellion, that _one_ rule you'd break though it might take away everything.

It's unrelenting, encompassing, shoving all other thought out. It's insidious and invades every area of your life, that cannot and will not be pushed back no matter how you try, it's eating you up from the inside out and you want to let it, to give in, you want it so bad and you're horrified and scared and desperate and confused and just driven _mad_ because it will burn you and burn you and never ever leave you alone, God, if only, you want everything and nothing and to be left alone and to never be alone, and you're confused and this feeling is killing you.

It's…


	14. Fall

**Words - 549  
**

**Rating - T  
**

**Warnings - Death, angst, confusion due to what I like to call stylistic wit (if you don't get the pun this is all built off, ask me in a signed review and I'll let you know)  
**

**#14 – FALL  
**

You think – _no._

And just like that, so simple, so sudden, so alarmingly irreversibly – you fall for her. You don't even know what's happened until you're tumbling down, down, and then it's just a matter of gravity really, there's nothing you can do. If only there was a spell to stop this, but there isn't – or at least, if there is, if there's some hypothetical spell that could reverse this whole process, it would have to take effect before you hit the bottom, and it's far too late for that already.

Because you don't know you're falling until you _are_, there's no advance warning. Similarly, you won't know you're hitting rock bottom until you _are_, and that end is coming soon, you can feel it in the rushing all around you. Your heart– it's active, forcing blood through your veins at an exaggerated speed as if that could somehow save you, as if a blush coming to your cheeks and your heartbeat in your ears could _save_ you from this.

You can't believe how stupid you are. There's no way this is worth it. There just _isn't_ – why, _why_ couldn't you have just kept your distance? This is a _war_, there's no time for pathetic emotions like love, especially not when it's your enemy you are feeling them for! You _know_ that, and yet still – you saw the wand pointed at her, saw that light, and your whole body filled up with _no_ and you just – fell.

And that was that. You know it. _Everyone_ will know it, soon enough. They will look at you and laugh, or pity you, but not one of them will respect this fall of yours; and how can you blame them? You are Draco Malfoy. You're supposed to be the height of heartless. You thought you _were_.

But you were clearly mistaken. You should have known, but she was just so _sneaky_ really – you thought it would be a pity, a shame, but you had convinced yourself you did not truly care whatever might happen to her. But then that was put to the test and you _failed_, you failed so miserably and you just went falling down, down, down, nothing you could do.

No second chances.

You wish that you could see her, at least. Her face, leaning over, watching you go. A sort of validation – but no. You leapt foolishly forward, you acted on impulse, you _saved her life_ –

You fell off a bloody rampart on the seventeenth floor of a castle built on a _hill_ with _rocks_, and you dropped your wand in doing so.

You're useless, Draco Malfoy, an utter and complete fool, sacrificing yourself for the sake of _nothing_ really, since you don't know if tackling her out of the way did anything more than buy her a few seconds of time. You hope it did – but you don't know, and you are _conscious_ of that fact, it will torture you for the next few seconds until nothing can torture you anymore.

And the worst part is, you truly didn't know, before that moment. You saw it happening, thought _no_ – and you fell, and that was it. Over.

You fall, and fall, and fall, and eventually you hit the ground.


	15. Expressive

**Words - 991  
**

**Rating - T  
**

**Warnings - None**

**Prompt - **_"I don't know how he says so much with just his eyebrow." _This is five months late and doesn't actually contain that line, but it builds from the idea, so... yeah.**  
**

**#15 – EXPRESSIVE  
**

He's always had that talent of speaking without words. Ever since she could remember, he had told her more in the subtle shifts of his body language than with any of the actual _words_ he spoke. All intentional, of course, all aimed for her and everyone else to pick up on, subconsciously at least; all planned down to the last word, the last twitch of a muscle.

He saw her and her family walking down the street. His eyes raked up and down, pausing at her head and her cheeks, narrowing slightly before they glanced away.

_Pitiful. Pathetic. Poor. Weasleys._

They were in a hallway and her (suddenly horrible, now that it was read aloud and Harry's face was so _white_) Valentine's poem was still lingering in the air. The corner of his lip quirked up, and his posture shifted forward slightly as he took a deep breath and leaned forward to yell something taunting.

_I see right through you, and it's pathetic. How typical for a Weasley._

She saw him in a doorway. He was leaning against the doorjamb, legs extended, hands in his pockets, conversing casually with some friends, relaxed and paying no attention to the group of people waiting for him to get out of their way.

_You think I care? You're so beneath me, I don't even notice you. And you know it, all of you do. That's why you let me get away with it._

He was playing Quidditch. His hands gripped against the broom handle, knuckles white, shoulders tense, and he sped faster and faster and faster after Harry Potter and the Snitch.

_You think you can beat me? You think you can humiliate me, Golden Boy? I'll show you. I'll shove you into the dirt and laugh; just you wait._

She bumped into him in a crowd of students. Taller than her, his eyes swept right over her head and moved on; but his jaw twitched slightly and his shoulder hit her hard enough to spin her around as pressed forward.

_You're not worth my notice, Weasley. But don't you dare get in my way. Don't you dare touch me. Don't you dare._

She confronted him angrily, shouting in his face. He just watched her, shoulders relaxed, and looked almost bored – but for the fact that his hand in his pocket was clenched in a fist, and his eyes were hard.

_Shut up, Weasley. Just shut up. I don't want to hear anything you have to say – I can't hear it. Just **shut up**__._

It's happened countless times. Maybe it's not even that he's so expressive, but that she is just good at reading him; knows by now how to pick up on what he's putting out for anyone who wants to listen. It can be difficult at times, to figure it out. It's not so obvious, and every little thing is open to interpretation – but even so, she thinks she usually gets it right. Though it depends on the situation, every new little shift or twitch or glance means something specific. And often, no matter how his body language seems to speak directly to her, Ginny realizes he doesn't even know he's doing it, because how can he? How could anyone?

Maybe that's why she is so surprised when, after associating with him more, an entirely new move appears. It's purely reactive to her statements, as well, but it somehow manages to say just as much if not _more_ than everything else she's been observing all this time. Worse, it's completely intentional – even more calculated than before.

She'll say something, up that one eyebrow will go (perhaps accompanied by his eyes flicking over something pointedly), and he'll respond eloquently without ever opening his mouth.

"Leave Neville alone."

_Who do you think you are? Do you think I even care?_

"You're going on a date with me."

_Lovely. An insane Weasley; just what I need. Oh, and by the way: no._

"No. You can't leave until you kiss me goodnight."

_Insane. Completely insane. But entertaining enough, I suppose._

"Leave Harry alone, Draco. Same to you, Harry – leave him alone, I've told you enough times."

_Shouldn't you be siding with Scarboy? When did you pick me over him?_

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

_I don't think I understand you just yet. …And yes, something is very wrong._

"Tell me about it."

_No. I can't. I never will, and we both know it. So why bother asking, you silly girl?_

Maybe it's that – that skill she has spent so long building up. But eventually, it comes to seem to Ginny at least that all of their significant communications are made in this form. She will speak, Draco's eyebrow(s) will shift – and that will be all. What he says out loud is rarely as relevant or as true, and Ginny truly does have to admire his delicate control over the language of the forehead. Never before has she met someone so skilled in the art; never again does she think she will.

But everyone has a limit. And one day, Ginny is proud to find it – to break his control, to be the only one to render Draco Malfoy incapable of speech from both his vocal cords and his occipitofrontalis.

"I love you," she says.

His right eyebrow twitches slightly. His face remains blank. His body freezes; even his breath stops halfway through an intake, so it sounds like a tiny gasp.

And even though Draco isn't speaking, isn't consciously relaying any information at all, Ginny understands his answer:

_You do?_

His eyes widen, focused on her own. His breath slowly slides out of him. All this in an instant, and then he is smirking arrogantly again, talking about something, but Ginny has been watching for a long time and she is practiced; she _saw_ it, every last little word written in those few seconds:

_I love you too._


	16. He's An Only Child, What's Her Excuse?

**Words - 710  
**

**Rating - PG13  
**

**Warnings - None**

**Prompt - **_"I don't share, Weasley."_**  
**

**#16 – HE'S AN ONLY CHILD, WHAT'S HER EXCUSE?  
**

"I don't share, Weasley," Draco said, glaring at the girl across from him. He took a deep breath, trying – and mostly failing – for patience. "I never have. I never will. And more importantly, I was here _first_."

Ginny, who had looked unsurprised through the first part of this statement, gaped at the blatant lie tacked on to the end of it. "You liar!" She snapped, "_I_ was here first! I got it first and it's mine! You know what, fine! I don't even know why I offered. I _won't_ share it with you; I was feeling generous, but fine!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You, a _Weasley_, actually dare to suggest that you can be _generous_ to a Malfoy? We have more than you will ever need or could even think to want!"

"Ah, that may very well be, Mr. Rich Boy, but you do _not_ happen to have _this_," Ginny said, gesturing to the item that sat in a place of stalemate between them. "And that is why I will be the one to take it tonight! I, who have _earned_ the right to have this all to myself even though I was willing to share!"

"No you weren't!" Draco replied, voice just this side of a yell. "You only say things like that to look like a goody-goody Gryffindor! You know you want it all to yourself just as much as I do!"

"Oh yeah?" Ginny said, shoving her head closer to Draco's. "Well, maybe I do! So what?"

Draco leaned in too, furiously. "It means that you have no right to act superior, you selfish little bint, because –"

"Um. Guys?" The arguing couple both yanked their heads to the side to glare at the person currently interrupting their argument.

"_What?_"

Neville flinched, but manfully kept his feet on the ground. "Um. What exactly are you arguing over?"

"What are we _arguing_ over?" Ginny scoffed. "Why – " She paused.

Draco, looking equally scornful at first, turned and blinked at her. For a few moments they just stared at each other. Then, in unison, they slowly looked down at the item sitting on the table between them.

"Well… that." Draco said slowly. Neville also blinked down at it for a few moments.

"That?"

"Yes, _that_, Longbottom, now do you really serve any purpose here? Get out!" Draco had no patience when it came to Neville. Ginny sighed fondly as her friend rushed away.

For a short time, there was silence.

"You know," Ginny said slowly, "It really is sort of silly to argue over who gets that. I mean, it's just a little tart."

Draco looked down between them. "Really? Then you won't mind if I finish it all off myself."

"NO!" Ginny shouted, and reached for the succulent treat reflexively. "Don't you dare!"

Draco's hand shot out to meet hers, and any semblance of peace was torn away as the two grappled briefly with each-other, fingers clenching in tight on a delightfully flaky crust, until eventually the treat was ripped in two, each coming away with more or less half. They each devoured their part swiftly and primitively, like ancient hunters hunched warily over a kill; eyeing their enemy with great mistrust, all dignity forgotten in favor of flavor.

Several minutes later, Ginny paused licking her fingers and mused aloud, "You know, I'm not entirely sure mum's tarts are good for us… This whole argument is getting rather regular, and that _can't_ be healthy. Maybe we shouldn't ask for any more…"

Draco glared at her, running his own finger along the edge of the plate to pick up any last crumbs. "Don't even consider it, Weasley. I want you to write for more _tonight_, got it?"

Ginny sighed. "Sometimes I think you only date me so you can eat mum's food. Am I on to something there?"

Draco smirked and stood, after double-checking to make sure he had not missed anything. "I wouldn't test that theory if I were you." When Ginny frowned and made to say something, he widened his eyes innocently. "Why, look at the time! I'm due back at the dorms. Night, love, don't forget to write your mum!"

He was gone from the room before Ginny could even finish shouting his name.


	17. Snow Falling

**Words - 329  
**

**Rating - T  
**

**Warnings - Angst, death, implied sexual situations  
**

**Prompt - **Based on the song "Samson" by Regina Spektor. I recommend that you listen to that while reading this.**  
**

**#17 – SNOW FALLING  
**

_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first, I loved you first_

- "Samson", Regina Spektor

I loved you. I swear I did, but things aren't – couldn't be – that simple. I think you knew that. I thought I could see it sometimes, in your eyes, in that way you looked at me, in the dark. Your eyes seemed so pale, shades lighter than they should be; everything seemed lighter when we met, color leeching away like winter, and it almost made me desperate.

I just want you to know that I did love you. And I know you loved me, even if you never said it, because you still came. You came to me, and stayed nights, and everything went pale, even the blood, lightening shades of snow. And that was enough for me, everything cooling down to nothing, until I could kneel up and do what I had to.

You would have fallen anyway, I know you would have. You were on the wrong side, it was coming, and – it felt wrong, on a battlefield. I loved you at night, in the stars, the winter landscape that you created inside me, that chill empty love that enabled me to do what felt right. And I didn't cry – I think you would like that. Not a single tear.

It was quiet, when you looked at me. You kissed me, and everything faded into quiet and pale light. And so, rather than on a violent angry battlefield, I kissed you one last time in the snowy white and waited until you fell asleep. I was gentle, and everything faded away, and your eyes never opened.

Everything was quiet. It was night, but you faded away like stars, and I loved you.

I did it for you, and it was quiet, and you faded slowly. I stayed after, but at least I gave you this, at least you would fade away gently, at least that. Like snow falling, the world fading, white and empty and slow, like your last kiss, your eyes closing.

I loved you.


	18. Sway

**Words - 482  
**

**Rating - PG13  
**

**Warnings - Mild angst  
**

**Prompt - **Based on the song "The Only Exception" by Paramore. I recommend that you listen to that while reading this. Written for **Porsh**, because I'm too nice (and desperate to write something, suggestions for anything else is welcome by the way).

**#18 – SWAY  
**

_You are the only exception_

_And I'm on my way to believing_

_Oh, I'm on my way to believing_

- "The Only Exception", Paramore

Ginny closed her eyes, swaying back and forth slowly on the shiny dance floor, head resting on his chest. She didn't know how she'd gotten here, and lately something in her had been clenching in a wonderful sort of fear, a sort of breaking.

She'd sworn – to herself, in private, a secret oath – to never believe in love again, not after Harry. She just couldn't make it work. Maybe her parents were happy, but she was another matter, and she'd sworn she was content, accepting. She'd really believed herself, too, for years she'd had her friends and career and it was always more than "enough".

But this. This was different.

She didn't know how, or why. Merlin knew, it hadn't been this way when it started. She was a realist and a pessimist in one: love didn't work out for her, no matter that Luna and Blaise's wedding last week had been a beautiful and happy one. Some other people had it, maybe, but not Ginny. She'd come to terms with this so long ago that it wasn't even on her mind anymore. She had known everything, going into this.

She'd known, and she had honestly believed herself. She had been keeping her promise for years, this was nothing new. There could be a relationship without love, attraction didn't mean attachment. She didn't even think to consider anything long-term. It wasn't as if either of them would want it.

But somehow. Somehow she'd lied to herself and mixed everything up.

And now here she was, swaying in his arms with her eyes closed and this felt inevitable in a way, like the slow-building music around them. Like she hadn't noticed it until it was too late, and yet she couldn't even be upset because…

Because she had lied to herself. Love may not like her, but she couldn't avoid it forever, and now she was falling again, could feel the drop with each heartbeat under her ear. And she knew the reality, knew that this wouldn't last for either of them, surely, but oh when he was breathing so steady and moving so slow. When she opened her eyes and there he _was_, handsome and grey-eyed and just watching her like maybe he felt it too.

When he smiled, just a little, and her heart didn't skip a beat so much as it just sighed out happily, and she felt herself smile back. No matter what she'd promised herself, she just smiled back.

She knew the truth, but she couldn't quite make herself believe it anymore, and she didn't know since when. But she couldn't help it and felt herself relax into him, and she really couldn't stop this slow, steady fall.

It took a moment to realize, a sway, a heartbeat, a breath, a look, and she knew inevitably: more than couldn't stop, she really just didn't want to.


	19. Thumbelina

**Words - 1061**

**Rating - PG**

**Warnings - None**

**#19 – THUMBELINA**

_"Okay, okay," _she whispers, tinny and barely discernable, gripping at your hair and earlobe. "_I get it, I owe you. Now just get me to Madame Pomfrey already, okay?"_

You give a kick to the cat at your feet (Granger's, the size if nothing else is telling) and it hisses, backing away with bared teeth. Obviously, it resents you for the lost meal. "I don't know, I-"

You're cut off by a sort of whimper and a, "_Shh! You idiot, I'm shrunk down to practically nothing, don't talk so loud!"_

"I actually almost prefer you like this," you whisper, and something sharp pierces your earlobe. You barely abort an instinctive slap at the sting, and swear under your breath. "Did you just _bite me?_"

In answer, something wet splatters at your neck, and she says, "_You taste like evil and citrus soap."_

The chuckle is held back, but she can doubtless still tell from your shoulder shaking if nothing else, and if she was where you could see her eyes, you're sure they'd be rolling.

You set off to the hospital wing at a leisurely pace, a pinky-sized Ginny Weasley clinging to your ear in a vice-grip that makes you wonder if this is what earrings feel like. It's amusing listening to her reactions, for all that she tries to act unaffected; she hisses in fear every time you walk too fast, and it actually stops being funny when her grip slips as you mount the stairs and she nearly falls to her death.

"Again, I could just hold you in my hands," you start and she cuts you off with a snort that tickles the side of your neck.

"_Please, who knows where your fingers would go._"

"I don't think I'd actually be able to tell," you muse. "After all, they're so tiny –" Another bite, on your neck this time. You'll have to get those looked at as long as you're in the hospital wing; this girl would probably infect you just for fun.

You are considering which of the many quips jostling around in your head you should next use, when a student rushing past bumps into you and sends you flying at the wall. You could catch yourself easily with your shoulder, but that's the side _she's_ on, so you spin around in a tripping maneuver, bringing both hands up to cup protectively around Ginny at the same time. You end up smashing your head and other shoulder hard against the wall and falling half-over until you catch yourself on one knee, grunting in pain, but none of that matters and you're pulling your cupped hands in front of your face in a sort of juddering terror.

She's so utterly tiny and _helpless _like this – and her wand didn't shrink with her, so it's not like she can cast a shield around herself or something. You found her about to be eaten by a cat, screaming in a near-inaudible voice with her wand large and useless next to her, and she's been dependent on you since. You can't bear the thought but who knows what might've just happened, that utter _imbecile_ running through the halls could have just _murdered her_ and your fingers are trembling uncontrollably as they slowly uncurl from around her.

Ginny is flushed and breathing heavy, disheveled from the knocking about she just received, but still all in one piece, and she's struggling to stand when your relieved sigh knocks her down again. She's scowling when she looks up at you after that, and you're prepared to receive a thorough tongue-lashing for being careless with her safety… except it never quite comes. Instead she's just looking up at you with an expression you really can't interpret at all, except to be quite certain it's not anger.

It's also freezing in some way, or maybe that's just the remnants of fear-fueled adrenaline still coursing through your system, but you can't move while she's looking at you like that, and she's not stopping. Evidently, she's seeing something very significant in your face, because her eyes are intent on you and you have no idea what she might be thinking. She slowly hoists herself up again and walks down the slope of your palms towards your face, each step just barely creating enough pressure for you to feel it. Soon she's right in front of you, so close that she's got to brace herself against your lips and you can't quite see her past your nose – still with that unreadable expression on her face. You're not sure what she's intending to do, but an ache has struck up in your head and it thrums through your shoulder and that's got to be why your heart is thudding so hard in your chest and you can't bear to breathe (it would probably knock her over again anyway).

And she leans forward, movements oddly solemn, and presses her miniscule lips gently to the tip of your nose.

It's not a kiss – at least, it doesn't _feel_ like one, not when you can barely feel anything she does, and anyway it can't just be a kiss all of a sudden. She just wouldn't do that. But nonetheless you find yourself swallowing thickly and blushing, the tip of your nose tingling under her touch and your lips twitching against her tiny fingers.

After that, she moves sideways, gripping onto your face in a series of places until she can shuffle back to your shoulder and grip a tuft of your hair in one hand, the bottom of your earlobe in the other, like before. You don't quite move as she does this, unwilling to upset her balance and feeling oddly shy. The top of her head is just visible in the corner of your vision for most of the journey, but once she's out of your sight completely, it's strangely easy to move and breathe again, as though a spell has just been broken. You stand slowly, wincing at the dull pain in your shoulder and pulsating headache already beginning in your temples. You really are going to need the aid of Madame Pomfrey too.

"Ready?" you ask as quietly as you can, more breath than words, and in return she grips on a little tighter, her fingers oddly warm and electric against your skin.

_"Yes."_


End file.
